Poems About Wild Animals
The animal kingdom is filled with almost an infinite variety of creatures. Scientists discover new species and subspecies every year. Each one is a wonder unto itself and one could labor for years to uncover its secrets. It is an unfortunate fact that the closest that most of us get to wildlife is through bars at the zoo. Our urban lifestyle has the effect of cutting us off from the glorious world of the animal kingdom. Every animal has a lesson to teach us that we are not hearing. We may think that we have evolved away from contact with animal kingdom, the question is, at what cost?
30 Poems on the Wonders of the Animal Kingdom
Rulers of the night, the wilderness is your home,
Man in his ignorance won't leave you alone,
Strong together you hunt for survival,
Man and his gun your only rival.
Mistress of the moon, shadows dancing on Northern skies,
I hear your torment and mournful cries,
Running, hunting, surviving, dying,
From frozen mountain tops I hear your crying.
Great warriors of the night,
I wish you strength and stamina,
Courage in your plight.
You are the heart of the wilderness,
Cool air and mountain snow,
You are part of this land but man is your foe.
So once again the dark night becomes black,
And howling is heard as wolves gather and pack,
With spirit and fight, stamina and charm,
Let no man destroy you, you mean them no harm.
Brave warriors of the night,
In the wilderness be,
Wise and cunning hunters,
Forever be free.
Let your howling join the earth,
May you hunt with no fear,
Let the mountains echo out,
The howl of wolves that fills the mountain air.Latest Shared Story
Wolves. Such beautiful creatures you are, and yet, man is out to destroy you. What did you ever do wrong? This was your land for generations. Now it is filled with dim echoes of the forest it...
Poem Bringing Attention To Whaling
As the gentle giants swim through the sea,
Not expecting a thing,
A sharp metal object is heading their way,
And they feel a sharp sting.
They don't know what happened,
But they feel a lot of pain,
The innocent creatures,
Are pulled up by a chain.
Now they've figured it out,
They know what's going on,
A whaling harpoon has hit them,
A massive violent gun.
As they're pulled up to the whaling ship,
Their condition deteriorates,
They get weaker and weaker,
They're in a terrible state.
The last thing they see,
Just before they die,
Is the satisfied look,
In the fisherman's eye.
I hope this proves,
How cruel whaling is,
Well how would you like it,
If you were treated like this?
Latest Shared Story
It was a heartfelt poem. I was really touched by it. I definitely agree that whaling should stop. Whales are my favorite animals.
A bird came down the walk:
He did not know I saw;
He bit an angle-worm in halves
And ate the fellow, raw.
And then he drank a dew
From a convenient grass,
And then hopped sidewise to the wall
To let a beetle pass.
He glanced with rapid eyes
That hurried all abroad,--
They looked like frightened beads, I thought;
He stirred his velvet head
Like one in danger; cautious,
I offered him a crumb,
And he unrolled his feathers
And rowed him softer home
Than oars divide the ocean,
Too silver for a seam,
Or butterflies, off banks of noon,
Leap, plashless, as they swim.Latest Shared Story
That's just about the way nature is. I spent time outside watching all the amazing creatures, and they all have busy responsibilities to attend to, so structured to doing their purpose in...
4. The Tyger
Tyger! Tyger! burning bright
In the forests of the night,
What immortal hand or eye
Could frame thy fearful symmetry?
In what distant deeps or skies
Burnt the fire of thine eyes?
On what wings dare he aspire?
What the hand dare seize the fire?
And what shoulder, and what art,
Could twist the sinews of thy heart?
And when thy heart began to beat,
What dread hand? and what dread feet?
What the hammer? what the chain?
In what furnace was thy brain?
What the anvil? what dread grasp
Dare its deadly terrors clasp?
When the stars threw down their spears,
And watered heaven with their tears,
Did he smile his work to see?
Did he who made the Lamb make thee?
Tyger! Tyger! burning bright
In the forests of the night,
What immortal hand or eye,
Dare frame thy fearful symmetry?
5. A Minor Bird
I have wished a bird would fly away,
And not sing by my house all day;
Have clapped my hands at him from the door
When it seemed as if I could bear no more.
The fault must partly have been in me.
The bird was not to blame for his key.
And of course there must be something wrong
In wanting to silence any song.Latest Shared Story
I laughed at this poem. I have felt the same way at times. I live in the country, and there is nothing more peaceful than listening to God's natural sounds of nature, but it’s just like any...
6. The Eagle
He clasps the crag with crooked hands;
Close to the sun in lonely lands,
Ringed with the azure world, he stands.
The wrinkled sea beneath him crawls;
He watches from his mountain walls,
And like a thunderbolt he falls.Latest Shared Story
This poem touched my heart as no other poem has. I love nature and most poems don't interest me. When I can, I am outside in nature and when I have to go inside, I fall just like the Eagle at...
A narrow fellow in the grass
You may have met him,--did you not,
His notice sudden is.
The grass divides as with a comb,
A spotted shaft is seen;
And then it closes at your feet
And opens further on.
He likes a boggy acre,
A floor too cool for corn.
Yet when a child, and barefoot,
I more than once, at morn,
Have passed, I thought, a whip-lash
Unbraiding in the sun,--
When, stooping to secure it,
It wrinkled, and was gone.
Several of nature's people
I know, and they know me;
I feel for them a transport
But never met this fellow,
Attended or alone,
Without a tighter breathing,
And zero at the bone.
8. The Fish
I caught a tremendous fish
and held him beside the boat
half out of water, with my hook
fast in a corner of his mouth.
He didn’t fight.
He hadn’t fought at all.
He hung a grunting weight,
battered and venerable
and homely. Here and there
his brown skin hung in strips
like ancient wallpaper,
and its pattern of darker brown
was like wallpaper:
shapes like full-blown roses
stained and lost through age.
He was speckled with barnacles,
fine rosettes of lime,
with tiny white sea-lice,
and underneath two or three
rags of green weed hung down.
While his gills were breathing in
the terrible oxygen
—the frightening gills,
fresh and crisp with blood,
that can cut so badly—
I thought of the coarse white flesh
packed in like feathers,
the big bones and the little bones,
the dramatic reds and blacks
of his shiny entrails,
and the pink swim-bladder
like a big peony.
I looked into his eyes
which were far larger than mine
but shallower, and yellowed,
the irises backed and packed
with tarnished tinfoil
seen through the lenses
of old scratched isinglass.
They shifted a little, but not
to return my stare.
—It was more like the tipping
of an object toward the light.
I admired his sullen face,
the mechanism of his jaw,
and then I saw
that from his lower lip
—if you could call it a lip—
grim, wet, and weaponlike,
hung five old pieces of fish-line,
or four and a wire leader
with the swivel still attached,
with all their five big hooks
grown firmly in his mouth.
A green line, frayed at the end
where he broke it, two heavier lines,
and a fine black thread
still crimped from the strain and snap
when it broke and he got away.
Like medals with their ribbons
frayed and wavering,
a five-haired beard of wisdom
trailing from his aching jaw.
I stared and stared
and victory filled up
the little rented boat,
from the pool of bilge
where oil had spread a rainbow
around the rusted engine
to the bailer rusted orange,
the sun-cracked thwarts,
the oarlocks on their strings,
the gunnels—until everything
was rainbow, rainbow, rainbow!
And I let the fish go.
I'm a stunning display of black and white,
Contrasting stripes to captivate sight.
My mane stands up straight and proud.
Every visual detail about me is loud.
Black with white stripes is what they say.
This matters not; I'm beautiful either way.
Never domesticated; no, not me.
I'm a zebra and I need to roam free.
Do Dogs Go To Heaven
I hear of a place that is made of gold,
a place where we shall never grow old,
but one answer I have not heard at all,
will there be paw prints from my little dog?
He promised us joy right from the start.
I just wonder if she'll be a part.
So as I sit here and dream of the day,
I wonder if in heaven she will stay?
When you're walking down with the saints of old,
take a glimpse of that new road,
and if there you shall see,
maybe a paw print just for me.Latest Shared Story
It's so great! I'm going to use it for a poetry contest in school.
11. A View Of A CatConcrete Poem
your bed, making
it my own, and
and when you are
away, I'm at home
all alone. I walk
around the food
bowl, sniffing out
what's there, and if
there's nothing good, I
I look at you and stare. I
curl up near the fire place
warming up my paws, I
pounce upon the scratch
post, sharpening my claws.
I see a mouse in front
staring straight at me, I
run and try to catch it
but it runs away from
thee. You see I am so
cute, so gorgeous with my
and purr.Latest Shared Story
My son, age 9, loves all things cat. He's currently taking a drama class and has to read a poem. This is the one he chose. I just hope he can make it through the poem without giggling. He...
The Loss Of A Bird
The Nightingale sang her song
For all the world to hear.
She sang it loud, she sang it true
To all that had an ear.
Until one day that glory-bird,
She landed on a wire,
And not just any wire was this,
But barbed, and cut like fire.
Her song-tune changed, with desperate cry.
Again, she rent the air,
But beauty did her song now lack
And t'was no longer fair.
Reflected in that song so bitter
The burning of her chest,
The aching, jagged, gushing hole
Through which she stained her vest.
Once snowy-white, now red with blood,
Her head, it sagged so low.
And with one squeak, her eyes did close.
No more were they to glow.
And though her magic song is gone,
No more to bless the ear,
No one will miss her voice or tune
Nor mourn her passing here.
For many other birds will sing
And most as sweet as she,
But ne'er again will it be heard
That voice that was so free.
And there she stayed, on thorn so hard
Until she fell away.
Only a mark, a stain of red
Shows truly where she lay.Latest Shared Story
This is touching and well spiced with rhetorical devices.
13. AnimalPoem About Animals Having Feelings
I was born one day to the sunny sky;
The light was quite a surprise.
My mother fed me and kept me warm,
While I was small in size.
I had a brother, close to my age,
To play with every day.
A feeling of fun I learned,
Made me happy in every way.
The days went on and I got older;
Winter rose before my eyes.
I felt cold and numb at night,
Waiting for the sun to rise.
I was running through the field one day;
I fell and hurt my toe.
A feeling of pain and discomfort I found;
Tears began to flow.
Days went on and I've healed and gotten better.
Came the season of happy days
And sunny weather.
I don't understand, I know I can't speak,
But this is all true.
I cry, and hurt, and play and love,
I have feelings just like you!Latest Shared Story
It proves animals have feelings too. They are the same as humans.
14. The Humblebee
Burly dozing humblebee!
Where thou art is clime for me.
Let them sail for Porto Rique,
Far-off heats through seas to seek,
I will follow thee alone,
Thou animated torrid zone!
Zig-zag steerer, desert-cheerer,
Let me chase thy waving lines,
Keep me nearer, me thy hearer,
Singing over shrubs and vines.
Insect lover of the sun,
Joy of thy dominion!
Sailor of the atmosphere,
Swimmer through the waves of air,
Voyager of light and noon,
Epicurean of June,
Wait I prithee, till I come
Within ear-shot of thy hum,--
All without is martyrdom.
When the south wind, in May days,
With a net of shining haze,
Silvers the horizon wall,
And, with softness touching all,
Tints the human countenance
With a color of romance,
And, infusing subtle heats,
Turns the sod to violets,
Thou in sunny solitudes,
Rover of the underwoods,
The green silence dost displace,
With thy mellow breezy bass.
Hot midsummer's petted crone,
Sweet to me thy drowsy tune,
Telling of countless sunny hours,
Long days, and solid banks of flowers,
Of gulfs of sweetness without bound
In Indian wildernesses found,
Of Syrian peace, immortal leisure,
Firmest cheer and bird-like pleasure.
Aught unsavory or unclean,
Hath my insect never seen,
But violets and bilberry bells,
Maple sap and daffodels,
Grass with green flag half-mast high,
Succory to match the sky,
Columbine with horn of honey,
Scented fern, and agrimony,
Clover, catch fly, adders-tongue,
And brier-roses dwelt among;
All beside was unknown waste,
All was picture as he passed.
Wiser far than human seer,
Seeing only what is fair,
Sipping only what is sweet,
Thou dost mock at fate and care,
Leave the chaff and take the wheat,
When the fierce north-western blast
Cools sea and land so far and fast,
Thou already slumberest deep,--
Woe and want thou canst out-sleep,--
Want and woe which torture us,
Thy sleep makes ridiculousLatest Shared Story
This poem really touched me. Fantastic work, truly beautiful.
15. Prairie-Dog Town
Old Peter Prairie-dog
Builds him a house
In Prairie-Dog Town,
With a door that goes down
And down and down,
And a hall that goes under
And under and under,
Where you can't see the lightning,
You can't hear the thunder,
For they don't like thunder
In Prairie-Dog Town.
Old Peter Prairie-Dog
Digs him a cellar
In Prairie-Dog Town,
With a ceiling that is arched
And a wall that is round,
And the earth he takes out he makes into a mound.
And the hall and the cellar
Are dark as dark,
And you can't see a spark,
Not a single spark;
And the way to them cannot be found.
Old Peter Prairie-Dog
Knows a very clever trick
Of behaving like a stick
When he hears a sudden sound,
Like an old dead stick;
And when you turn your head
He'll jump quick, quick,
And be another stick
When you look around.
It is a clever trick,
And it keeps him safe and sound
In the cellar and the halls
That are under the mound
In Prairie-Dog Town.
16. Wild Horses
Thunder of hooves across the land,
A gallant proud stallion is leading his band,
With grace and beauty they gallop and run,
Enjoying the freedom and warmth of the sun.
They stop and graze on grassy plains,
With only the wind to groom their manes,
No man can govern where they roam,
Fence-less pastures their only home.
Stand proud wild horses with spirit strong,
In man-less land where you belong,
Untamed you gallop on land through sea,
Forever wild ..... Forever free.Latest Shared Story
Incredible! This poem is so good, one in a thousand horse poems!
17. The ButterflyBeauty Of A Butterfly In Nature
The butterfly is a thing to behold,
with colors more beautiful than gold.
Flying hour by hour,
going from flower to flower.
Oh, how I enjoy your beauty butterfly,
as I sit and watch you flutter by.Latest Shared Story
You are so right!! I live in the country, where nature is so obvious around us. We need to take time to smell the roses. It's a beautiful feeling.
18. FoodThe Predator's Hunt
Crouched in grasses - sun is sinking
food will come for evening drinking
silent - still - panting - thinking,
resting in the heat of sun.
Sun goes down and sky is red
food is coming - scent is read
lust for blood engulfs my head,
muscles tense for coming run.
Here they come by twos and threes
down to water - on their knees
no scent of me is on the breeze,
my hunt is only now begun.
There's one limping - limping still
he can't run with speed or skill
he'll be my food - my easy kill,
mark him well for he's the one.
Rising - tensing for the fray
alarmed - the herd stampedes away
thundering hooves - all but my prey,
my hunger peaks - this hunt is won.
Explode from cover - extending claws
closing fast on lightning paws
pounce - his throat between my jaws,
hold him down til kicking's done.
Feasting now in cool of night
flesh tastes rich and blood is bright
hyenas hanging back in fright,
I'll hunt again with newborn sun.
Poem About Ants
Deep into the woods in my truck I seemed lost.
The brisk, chilly breeze was still holding the frost.
Because it was dried up and totally dead,
I decided to cut down this big tree instead.
The ants had been busy all over that tree,
before my big chain saw had made them all flee.
The noise and vibration and all the turmoil,
(had it happened to me, would have made my blood boil).
But they simply scattered if off to the races,
to other safe havens - to other safe places.
My muscles all ached from my head to my feet,
but I felt so content - with my job now complete.
It seemed that my actions were merely a bump,
to ants now so busy inside that tree stump
I wondered which one, if any, had won -
the ants or myself as I thought my job done.
As I sat on the gate of my rusty old truck,
loaded down heavy with logs - was now stuck!
I realized then that it's sometimes worthwhile,
to sit back a moment, a moment to smile.
©2007 Louis gander - ALL RIGHTS RESERVED
You should always keep a spider
At least one in every room
Give them a little corner
With an offering of food
They'll spin away at night
And they'll hunt for you by day
Keeping your house clean of pests
In their very special way
So do not go hard with insect spray
When bluebottles and flies come your way
Remember the little spiders
Who hide themselves awayLatest Shared Story
Wow, spiders. I am not fond of them. I know they can't eat much, but I don't want them crawling on me. Once my daughters found a tarantula and wanted him for a pet, so they put him in a class...
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